


half my soul

by thebriars



Series: drumfred ficlets [2]
Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Art, Boys In Love, Drabble, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia (implied), Poetry, Prose Poem, artist!edward, its a thing now ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 23:50:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14176029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebriars/pseuds/thebriars
Summary: alfred had never considered himself a poet. he found that the storm of words, so elegant in his mind and in his heart, left him whenever he picked up the quill. the things he felt and thought manifested themselves in actions rather than pretty words on pretty paper.--a drabble bc i'm feeling like it





	half my soul

**Author's Note:**

> oh i'm back hello

"he is half my soul, as the poets say." (madeline miller, the song of achilles)

alfred had never considered himself a poet. he found that the storm of words, so elegant in his mind and in his heart, left him whenever he picked up the quill. the things he felt and thought manifested themselves in actions rather than pretty words on pretty paper.

a walk through rambling gardens or a quiet afternoon pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with wilhelmina on the piano bench seemed like a truer art form than poetry. a check sent to a charity made more of a difference than an editorial in the back of the newspaper. people made more sense in real life than through an essay on their nature.

alfred never considered himself a poet, but then there was edward.

edward, with eyes like the queen's emeralds and a smile like moonlight. edward, who was quiet and yet blisteringly intelligent and sweet like the sugar cubes wilhelmina gave to the horses. edward, who shared that moonlight smile when alfred pressed a folded slip of paper into his hand one evening. edward, who was more beautiful than the sea and the sky and the earth itself.

suddenly, alfred was up late at his desk, ink across paper like lips across skin, and the poetry came to him. the feelings that swirled in his mind were etched with startling permanence into a correspondence more scandalous than albert had been.

and edward wrote him back, if it could be considered writing.

alfred's likeness stared at him from the letters, smiling and reading and with a cigar between his fingers, lips parted and smoke swirling. every stroke of a pen brought them closer and closer, until scotland came and alfred left his poetry behind for action once more.

edward was his poetry now, so much more than pretty words. and alfred was his art, more real than the finest drawing could ever hope to be.

they rewrote the definition of it all, for people could be poetry and art, and paper could be love.

 

**Author's Note:**

> let me know if there are any grammar/spelling errors please!! also, what did y'all think? i love writing this type of thing but i have no clue if it's any good lol
> 
> \--
> 
> i may be ace but i'm a hoe for comments <3


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